


Remote Control

by Derin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen, No beta we kayak like Tim, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Derin/pseuds/Derin
Summary: Nobody likes an apocalypse.But from the Panopticon, Jon and Martin have a chance to try again. To do everything right. They can't go back, but perhaps they can provide influence, guidance; perhaps they can help them make better decisions, save the world, maybe even save the people they love.Martin and Jon have a chance to save the world. If only they can convince those contrarian bastards Martin and Jon to cooperate.
Comments: 39
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You guys win, you broke me down, I'm doing one. I'm doing a self-indulgent time travel fix-it AU.

Martin wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find in the Panopticon, but Jonah Magnus already being dead wasn’t it.

Annabelle, lips pulled into a coy smile that would look completely sincere to someone who didn’t know what she was, dropped the bloody pipe next to his corpse and dusted off her hands. “You made it, then.”

“What are you doing here?” Martin couldn’t help but ask. “Jon, what is she doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Jon admitted, rubbing his temples. For someone who didn’t need sleep, he looked very tired. “I can’t see anything in here.”

“So are you cut off, or…?”

“No, I can see everything _out there_ just fine. I just… didn’t magically get the ability to see inside when we crossed the threshhold.”

“Feel free to ask, Archivist,” Annabelle said with a little grin, stepping away from the corpse. “The time for secrets has passed, don’t you think?”

There was a dare in her eyes. She was trying to tempt Jon to use his powers on her.

Martin didn’t trust it.

“What are you doing here?” Martin asked again, before Jon could.

Annabelle shrugged. “Just helping out. Are we saving the world, or what? You brought your Spiral thing along, didn’t you?”

“What Spir – oh.” Martin caught sight of Helen’s door, garishly bright in the otherwise drab wall. But this was no time to get distracted. “Why would you want to save the world?” he asked Annabelle. “You helped destroy it. Don’t think we didn’t notice all the, the spiders and manipulation. So what, you’re just, having second thoughts now? Decided you don’t like the apocalypse after all?”

“You can believe that if you want,” she shrugged. “You sure you don’t want your Archivist to be conducting this interview?”

“Don’t say anything, Jon,” Martin said, as Jon opened his mouth. “She’s… doing something.”

“Or she’s trying to convince you that she’s doing something because she doesn’t actually want me to Ask,” Jon said gently. “Annabelle, are you here to reverse the apocalypse?”

“It would be more accurate to say that I’m here to prevent the apocalypse,” Annabelle replied. Which made absolutely no sense. “You’re the last one, actually. Not counting the ones that weren’t worth trying. The Corruption and the End weren’t really worth the risk or effort, to be honest.”

“Uh… what?”

“It really is very simple. There was a big, beautiful world out there all ripe for the changing, but nobody actually knew what the best future would look like. So we thought, there are all these people running about whose job is to observe things, why not try out a bunch of options and let them gather the data for us? And none of the apocalypses we’ve tried are particularly tempting, so.” She rubbed her hands together. “Back to the real world, I suppose. My part’s all set up, so if you threaten your pet Spiral monster enough I’m sure you’ll have no trouble. Best of luck.”

And then she simply… left.

Martin was tempted to go after her, but Jon put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think confronting her directly is a good idea.”

“Why not?” Martin asked. “She’s not in Salesa’s place, she’ll be out of the Panopticon, you can – oh! If she’s out, can you see what she’s up to?”

“Yes. Sort of. It’s, it’s the Web, so I can see the pieces but there’s… there’s so many of them, and the connections aren’t all… obvious.”

Like last time he’d tried to look into the Web, then. “Can you see what her plan for us is?”

“Yes. I expect she’s made that easy on purpose.”

“So it might be a trick, then. Hiding the important stuff, making you assume wrong.”

“Possibly. I don’t think so. Anyway, I don’t… I don’t think we have much choice but to try. Killing Jonah clearly hasn’t done anything, and not even I can fight the Panopticon.”

Martin crossed his arms. “Right, so what… what exactly does the creepy spider woman want us to do, exactly?”

“I’ll show you. It’s upstairs. And, ah… we’re going to need Helen.”

\---------------

  
  


Jon didn’t pay much attention to the top room in the tower that had once been the Institute and Panopticon underneath. He was too busy watching Martin.

It had been a while since Jon had been… human. Feeding on the constant terror of everyone around him and Knowing humanity to its core as a result while his instincts screamed at him that this didn’t feel horrible, it felt _good_ , it felt _right_ , made it difficult to keep perspective. These days, his sense of right and wrong relied mostly on the memories of what used to bother him. And, of course, on Martin’s judgements. So he watched Martin’s expression carefully and noted the flicker of puzzlement that crossed his features.

“It’s like something out of a fairy tale,” Martin noted. “A tower for a princess.”

“It… what?”

“You know. Huge tower. Fancy shimmering patterns everywhere. Magic mirrors.”

Jon was pretty sure that the fancy shimmering patterns in a stereotypical princess tower weren’t dew-covered cobwebs strung about the room, and the prototypical princess probably had a much nicer view. But it was difficult to argue about the mirrors. Two of them, on opposite sides of the circular room, connected by the complex webbing that was strewn over everything. Connected, in particular, to a chair sitting in front of each.

Jon was pretty sure he recognised his old office chair from the archives.

“So which one of you is the princess in the tower?” Helen asked, leaning in the doorway that had ceased to be an exit and become Her Doorway when they weren’t looking. “And who’s the dragon?”

Jon ignored her. “It should work,” he said to Martin. “I’m, I’m pretty sure.”

“You’re talking about time travel.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“So aren’t there… paradoxes, and stuff? I mean, if we in the past behave differently, then we become different people, so us here in the their future would be different and wouldn’t – ”

Jon laughed. After everything we’ve seen, you want to apply old-world logic to _this_?”

“Right. Fair enough. So… explain to me again, how it works? You said we’re not going back in time.”

“No, that’s not possible. But, but small bursts of information can. We’re connected enough to our own pasts to… guide our past selves. A little bit. Hopefully enough to make different decisions.”

“Ones that won’t end the world.”

“Yes.”

“So what… what happens to us here? If we succeed. We stop ourselves from existing, right?”

“Y-yes. Our connection should remain stable until the timeline we’re connected to catches up with the point at which this world was born. And then, if this world _isn’t_ born, it collapses. This never existed, except as a guiding light for our past selves.”

“Two innocent people, who we’re going to… control.”

“Yes.”

“You know how wrong that sounds, right? They’re not us yet, we can’t consent for them, not really.”

“Martin, given the alternative – ”

“Yes, yes; I know. Manipulating two idiots to save the world, I mean, we’ve done much worse things. I just… I just think it’s important to acknowledge it. This isn’t… good.”

“If you don’t think we should – ”

“We should do it. Of course we should. We’re talking about saving the world. But I don’t trust Annabelle, I still think this might be a trap, and I don’t like it. We just…”

“Don’t have any other options.”

“Yeah.”

Jon tried a grin. “Even if it is a trap, Annabelle can hardly make things worse, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

Jon turned to Helen. “If you could put your door in the center, Helen?”

“Hmm. No, I don’t think so. I like the world you’ve built, thank you.”

“Helen,” Martin pleaded.

“It’s hard to say no to those puppy dog eyes, but really. The two of you need to loosen up. Why are you so eager to destroy the best thing you’ve ever made?”

“The other world was plenty fun for you, right?”

“How so?” She tilted her head, and grinned a grin with all the wrong sort of teeth. “Convince me.”

“Help,” Jon said firmly, “or I will kill you. Help, and the Distortion will continue to exist to have whatever ‘fun’ you can manage; you might even get to be Helen again. Refuse, and I have no reason to keep you alive.”

Helen clearly wasn’t falling for it. She just giggled. “Ooh, direct and threatening is a good look on you, Archivist. You should do it more often. You know what? I think I will help.”

Jon blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“All the madness in this world is starting to get a bit samey, to be honest. There’s no sanity to contrast it with. Why do you think I keep finding you two instead? Watching you stumble around in the past is bound to be something new, at least.”

“But you just said – ” Jon gave up trying to understand the personification of deception. It hadn’t escaped Jon’s notice that he was getting a lot of sudden suspicious cooperation from both someone known for conspiracy and deception, and the self-styled Throat of Delusion, in a situation where his ability to check for deception was severely curtailed. He almost stopped Helen from reaching down to the floor and opening a door that hadn’t previously been there, but as she did so, images flicked to life on the two mirrors. A younger Jon, unscarred and energetic. A younger Martin, brow creased with only mundane human worries, eyes carrying none of the pain of all the horrors he’d endured. A chance. Right there. Right in front of them.

They had to try.

\------------------------

  
  


Jonathan Sims was out of his depth.

A ridiculous notion, of course. He could handle this. Elias wouldn’t have promoted him if he couldn’t have handled this. He may not have any archival experience, but he was a perfectly competent researcher, and it was probably similar.

Anyway, he could hardly do any worse than Miss Robinson. He’s inherited the basement in a state of absolute chaos, and if it took some time to find his feet, he could hardly be blamed for that. By the time he sorted out her mess, he’d probably be the age she’d been when she…

Well. Nobody could blame him, at any rate. He just had to work very hard, and eventually everything would get on track. No problem. Tim and Sasha would be helpful, at least.

He’d started making audio versions of the statements, at Elias’ request, and some of them were… tricky, to record. He didn’t like doing those ones. But a job was a job, and if Elias thought that audio versions were important…

He picked up one such difficult statement off his desk, and the tape recorder. Might as well get this over with. Just as he was about to hit ‘record’, the _other_ assistant stumbled into his office, nearly kicking over a pile of papers on the floor, cup of tea in hand.

“Martin,” Jon greeted him sourly.

“I, uh, made you some tea,” Martin said, unnecessarily, since he was obviously carrying a cup of tea.

Did the man ever do anything except make tea and problems? Just bumbling around, getting in the way ++although not as much as Jon himself, who was neither qualified nor competent in archival work and in no position to go about criticising anyone else. Maybe if he’d stop assuaging his own insecurities by foisting his self-disdain on other people, the archives would be a better place to work for everybody. Did he even know, at this point, that Sasha had wanted the job, and was a better fit for it? If he hoped to get anything done in this place then he needed to pull his head out of his arse and treat Martin and the others with the respect they++

Jon blinked, hard, and focused on the cup of tea in Martin’s hands, that he suddenly had an overwhelming and irrational appreciation for. “Th-thank you, Martin,” he said, surprised at the sincerity in his own voice. “For the tea.”

“R-right, then.” Martin looked startled as he set the tea gently on the desk and back quickly out of the room.

\------------------

  
  


In the Panopticon, Martin twisted in his chair to raise a brow at Jon. “Came on a little strong there, didn’t you?”

“He was going to be a rude arse and neither of us need to put up with it,” Jon grumbled.

Martin just laughed.

\------------------

  
  


Martin thought that things just might be okay.

He hadn’t really wanted to transfer from the library, but the way the offer had been phrased had sort of assumed his acceptance and he hadn’t really wanted to rock the boat. He didn’t like getting Elias’ attention – there was the chance he might say or do something that would prompt the man to take another look at his CV, and the way he looked at Martin was downright creepy – so it was easiest just to go along quietly. ++ Not that the CV really mattered. It was best not to get Elias’ attention, but he wasn’t going to be fired. And he could trust the other archive staff. ++

He was getting the hang of things, now. Well, mostly he was getting the hang of how everyone liked their tea, but that was a start. It was something. And Tim and Sasha had invited him out for drinks on the weekend, which was something. Except they were probably just being polite; he didn’t think they actually wanted him there. It’d be awkward. He shouldn’t impose on them. He shouldn’t go. ++ He should go. It couldn’t hurt to get to know his coworkers better, right? ++

Being an archive assistant was hardly exciting work, but neither was the library. It was fine. It was safe. It was a steady paycheck with no nasty surprises.

This could all work out okay.


	2. Chapter 2

“Not that playing The Sims with our past selves isn’t fun, but do we have a plan here, exactly?” Martin asked.

“Keep the Archivist from getting all the marks while we figure out how to get to the Panopticon. Send them in to kill Jonah.”

“How are we going to stop everyone, you know, dying, when we kill Jonah?”

“We can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“… Right.”

“We have plenty of time to plan a solution to that, we just… there are a lot of steps before we get to that point. We don’t know what we’ll have to work with when we get to that point.”

“True. First up is the worms, I guess? Prentiss is when things really started to go off the rails. We lost Sasha, and you and Tim got eaten, and I found Gertrude’s body which really didn’t help with your mental state.”

“And my mental state made Tim’s worse, yes. So all we have to do this time, I suppose, is stop Martin from going to Carlos Vittory’s flat.”

Martin shook his head. “He needs to go to the flat, or Prentiss won’t follow him home.”

“Exactly. I’m not letting you spend two weeks in your flat beseiged by worms again.”

“I survived.”

“That’s hardly the point.”

“Jon, our big advantage here is that we know what’s going to happen. As soon as we start messing around with big stuff, we lose that. Jane’s going to go to the Institute anyway; she was setting up that worm portal thing in the tunnels. If she doesn’t follow him from his flat, though, we won’t have a timeline. We won’t know what’s going to happen in what order, and we won’t be prepared for it. We can’t expect any help from Elias until it’s absurdly dangerous, since he wants her to mark past-you, so our best bet is to make sure it’s absurdly dangerous in the same way, and save Sasha.”

“… Hmm. That’s a good point, actually.”

“Of course it – ”

“We can use it to keep her out of the archives entirely. We can avoid turning up Gertrude’s body, and also stop Tim and my past self’s introduction to everything from being quite so traumatic. Perhaps they’ll both hold up better if they’re introduced to things more… gently. And save Sasha for the moment, although I’m sure that table will keep being a problem.”

“I… what are you talking about? Keep her out of the archives? How?”

Jon grinned. “You’re really not going to like it.”

\-----------------------

  
  


Martin hung up and stared at the phone for awhile. He’d long ago stopped showing up to the care home in person unannounced, when it became clear that it was a wasted trip more than half the time. Now, he called ahead, and tried not to be hurt when the receptionist gently told him that his mother wasn’t up to visitors today.

He was selfish, he knew. She never wanted to see him, and yet he kept forcing his presence on her. A good son would stop causing his mother so much pain; he’d pay for the facility and leave her with whatever space she needed, until she wanted to see him. A good son would be someone his mother actually wanted to see. Martin wasn’t sure what he’d done to make his own mother not be able to stand to be near him, but it must have been awful.

He should leave her alone. But… she was his mother. She was the only person he had. And he was selfish.

++ She didn’t have to be the only person he had. He could’ve gone out with Tim and Sasha, when they’d invited him. He had a lot of acquaintances at work who could become friends, if he wanted them to be. He wasn’t unlovable. ++ But that was a ridiculous notion, of course; _his own mother_ couldn’t stand him. Just because other people invited him places to be polite didn’t mean he should impose on them.

At least things were settling down at work. Jon had been less openly scathing towards him over the past few weeks, and sometimes seemed to be avoiding him. Martin didn’t blame him. As for home… well. He had the whole Saturday open and to himself. He had, as usual, blocked out the day for visiting his mother. He had, as was frequent, suddenly a free day where that wasn’t happening. He’d probably just end up watching Netflix on the couch all day. He should do something productive, maybe write some poetry, but he wasn’t in the mood.

++ What he really needed to do was get his life in order. Clean up, do some shopping, maybe repair or replace his old ratty shirts. That would definitely help pick him up. ++ And he had a whole weekend to do it! By Monday, he’d be a New Martin! Or at least the Old Martin with a full fridge and cleaner house.

Martin went shopping. As well as food, if he was going to get organised, he would need… stuff. New sheets! He could restock the first aid kit! ++ Hey, fire extinguishers were on sale! ++ It would probably be handy to have a fire extinguisher, just in case of kitchen accidents or whatever. ++ He could even get two. ++ He didn’t see why he’d need two, ++ but with the layout of his apartment it’d be easy to get trapped in the bedroom if there was a fire, so maybe he should have one in the bedroom, just in case? ++ He didn’t see how anything could catch fire that would trap him in the bedroom, ++ but you never know. And they were on sale. ++

Anyway, a couple of small fire extinguishers didn’t take up much space. He could easily get a second one. ++ Although maybe he should splurge for the bigger ones. Better to have a bigger extinguisher if something did catch fire, right? ++ He didn’t think he’d need more than the small ones, ++ but it’d be a hell of a time to learn he was wrong right in the middle of an emergency. Anyway, he saved more money on the big ones. It was only sensible. ++

He grabbed a couple of large fire extinguishers and dropped them home. He should probably buy groceries. ++ Maybe stock up on things that don’t need to be cooked, for those days when he didn’t have much time. Get a lot of variety. No peaches. ++

\-----------------------

  
  


Jon sat at his desk and rubbed his temples. Before him sat another of the… difficult statements; the ones that wouldn’t record properly. ++ The real statements. It was ridiculous to keep dancing around the issue, to pretend that denial made him safe. ++ But what else could he do? Every time he started reading one, it felt like something was… watching. Waiting. And so long as nothing changed, so long as he kept the holding pattern, things were probably fine. But if let himself believe he was in danger, if he let the thing out there know that he knew… ++ then what? Does Wile E. Coyote logic apply? You won’t fall off the cliff so long as you don’t look down at the air below? ++

He had to record the statement. He was tired. ++ Best to put it off until tomorrow. There was no hurry to record them. ++ But Elias wanted audio copies quickly, and Tim had said that there were researchers wanting audio for this one, and ++ why are researchers listening to hastily recorded magnetic tapes when they could just read the original records? That’s weird. Is it really the researchers who want them? ++ 

At least he didn’t have to contend with Martin. The man had been out sick for a couple of days, which was a welcome relief. ++ He really needed to smarten up and stop blaming martin for all of his problems just because he was a soft target ++ but maybe they could get some actual work done around the place. ++ He should probably call him to make sure he was okay. ++ But Martin was a grown man; incompetent as he was, he didn’t need his boss nannying him over a simple illness, and Jon didn’t need details. ++ A simple text really wasn’t enough to go on ++ but was a perfectly sufficient explanation for his absence, although he’d need a doctor’s note if he was gone much longer. Jon didn’t need to ++ GO AND CHECK IN ON HIM, OR AT LEAST CALL HIM ++ over such a simple thing.

He called his number. No answer. ++ That might indicate trouble. ++ Martin was probably sleeping; he was sick. ++ He could text him, and if a text got an immediate reply but a call didn’t, that would surely indicate something was wrong, ++ except there were a million perfectly normal reasons for such a thing and Jon wasn’t going to sit there and obsess all afternoon over Martin, of all people. He had work to do. And he was going to take advantage of this Martin respite to actually get it done.

Jon took a deep, steadying breath, and reluctantly picked up the tape recorder.

\----------------------

  
  


In the Panopticon, Jon cursed and rubbed his temples. “I hate how stubborn I am,” he muttered, while Helen laughed.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

“How’s your guy doing?” Martin asked over the lattice of webs and magic Spiral door that separated them.

“He’ll be there tonight if I have to kill him,” Jon promised. “How’s yours holding up?”

“Well, y’know. Fine. Considering the circumstances.”

\--------------------

  
  


Martin was not fine. Martin had never been less fine in his life.

It would end like this, wouldn’t it? After the past few weeks he’d been stocking up on fire extinguishers and first aid supplies and other things for normal, everyday problems, and suddenly none of it mattered because there was _a worm woman knocking on his door_ and _he was going to die here_.

++ There was no need to think he was going to die. There was no need to give up. He had water, and he had plenty of food, and he’d sealed up every gap that a worm could conceivably crawl through. He just had to hold on. ++ But none of that mattered, really, did it? Because no one was coming. Somehow, his neighbours hadn’t noticed anything, so they certainly wouldn’t now. He had no friends who’d notice his absence and check on him. Would they even miss him at work? Or would they just figure, oh great, now Martin’s not going to get in the way, and think no more of it until his rent lapsed and the landlord came by and found his worm-ridden corpse? And then the landlord would probably get infected too, because of Martin.

++ Freaking out wasn’t going to help anyone. All he had to do now was remain vigilant, and wait. Somebody would come. ++ Nobody was going to come. ++ Somebody would come. He just had to take things one day, one hour, one minute at a time. ++

Martin went to re-check the sheets jammed around his door.

\---------------------

  
  


Jon had gotten on the wrong bus.

He wasn’t sure how it had happened. He’d been so distracted with… well, something. Random thoughts. He’d been mentally out of sorts a lot lately. He couldn’t stop thinking about the archives, and the statements, and Martin, who was still out sick…

He got off the bus, ++ and was right outside Martin’s apartment building. ++ He didn’t know where he’d learned where Martin lived ++ but that was definitely Martin’s apartment building.++ He’d probably… seen the address on some form or something, although that didn’t explain how he knew it on sight. ++ Probably didn’t matter. But he should drop in on Martin and make sure he was doing alright. ++

It wasn’t really any of his business how Martin was handling his illness, ++ but he had a while to wait for a return bus anyway, and wasn’t he supposed to be the boss? He had a duty to show some level of concern and care for his assistants. It was the professional thing to do. ++

A quick check-in couldn’t hurt.

++ Martin’s apartment was on the third floor. ++ Jon took the elevator up. He headed for the door and

++ STOP. ++

Something was wrong. He stepped forward

++ STOP. ++

There was a faint knocking sound. A clanging in the pipes, perhaps? Jon had barely had time to consider it when it stopped. He glanced down; there was something on his shoe. Some kind of silvery worm. He kicked it off. He looked up again.

The thing before him had clearly once been a woman. That much was evidenced from the tatters of a red dress she still wore, the tails of greasy hair that still hung from the top of her head. On the face that looked to be completely covered in acne at first glance until you realised no, they weren’t pimples, they were little worm heads poking out of holes in her flesh, the shape of her nose and mouth and empty eye sockets were still clearly discernable.

Well, eye sockets devoid of eyes, at any rate. They certainly weren’t empty.

The elevator was out of the question. Jon ran for the stairs. Too late.

Jon screamed.

\-------------------

  
  


That scream sounded like Jon!

Martin bolted for the front door. ++ He would need a weapon, ++ so he grabbed the fire extinguisher on the way and had kicked the door wide open before he had time to think that the whole thing was probably a trick by Jane.

It was no trick. Jon was on the floor, screaming as worms burrowed into his flesh. Jane was more focused on Jon than Martin; he was able to step forward and swing the heavy weight of the extinguisher against her head. The effect was… disgusting, but apparently not fatal to her or the countless worms in the halls, on Jon, crawling up Martin’s legs.

Through the panic lancing through his body and mind, some stupid, ridiculous part of his mind that had played a bit of Dungeons and Dragons as a teenager noted drily, _of course that wouldn’t work, you can’t just bludgeon a swarm, you want an attack with an area of effect_.

So he pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and started spraying.

The effect was immediate. Worms shrivelled and dies instantly in the swarm. Jane was in front of him, ++ kill her, you can kill Jane, just kill Jane and everything ++ and Jon was behind her, writhing in worms and blood, so he charged past her and started dousing him in carbon dioxide. Martin was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to spray fire extinguishers on people, but he figured the effects were unlikely to be worse than supernatural worm infection.

While he worked, Jane fled. Good. One less thing to worry about.

The worms on Jon’s arms and legs shrivelled and died. Martin dropped the fire extinguisher, breathing heavily. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“No,” Jon grunted.

Behind him, someone shrieked. Martin turned around to find Liana, his neighbour, staring at them, one trembling hand over her mouth. Martin smiled reassuringly and tried to look like someone who wasn’t on the verge of a mental breakdown in three-day-old clothes standing protectively over a bleeding man in a pile of dead worms. “Could you call an ambulance, please?” he asked.

Liana nodded and pulled her phone out.

“Did they get you?” Jon asked from between gritted teeth.

“Yeah, but they’re dead now. Don’t like fire extinguishers, apparently.”

“You should check. If you missed just one – ”

“So should You – Jon! Your neck!”

“What?”

A worm was burrowing its way into Jon’s neck. Martin reached for the extinguisher, thought better of blowing high pressure chemicals directly into his boss’ face, and instead picked him up and carried him into his flat.

“Martin, what are you – ?”

“That thing can’t wait for the ambulance,” Martin said firmly, dumping Jon onto his bed and saying a mental goodbye to his last set of sheets not covered in worms or blood. He pulled open the drawer in his bedside table, which had been slowly morphing into a very extensive first aid kit, and grabbed a pair of sterile tweezers. “This is going to hurt a lot.”

“How are you so calm about --- aaargh!”

Martin was not calm. He was not remotely calm. But his hands were steady, and his goals were clear. “This isn’t the first weird medical emergency I’ve walked in on,” he said as he dropped the worm on the floor and stomped on it. There had been several close calls with his mother, back in the day – a particularly bad incident had lead him to finally agreeing to put her in a home, where there would be professionals on hand for such emergencies.

Martin pulled a bandage out of the drawer and pressed the roll against Jon’s neck. “There. It’s alright. The ambulance will be here soon.”

And it was.

\----------------------

  
  


“Ah, pity,” Martin scowled in the Panopticon. “I was really hoping he’d kill Jane. Now we can’t guarantee she won’t turn up at the Institute, and we have no timeline for it.”

“If she does, we can at least convince Elias to be more cooperative,” Jon said. “Since my past self is marked by her already. Things shouldn’t get as bad as last time.”

“But you go to the CO2 without me,” Helen cut in, disappointed. “How will we ever become such good friends now, Archivist?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Jon said drily.

\----------------------

  
  


Jon didn’t want to take time off work. But he was, admittedly, covered in multiple worm holes. ++ And he really should take the time to rest and heal. ++

So he was taking the time to rest and heal. Nothing particularly urgent was happening at work, and after a few days away from the Institute, he was started to get some… perspective. Worrying perspective.

At work, Jon often had the sense that he was being watched. It was worse when he was recording, but the feeling was always there. Sometimes he could feel it like an itch in his mind, like perhaps there was something out there reading his very thoughts, judging him. And sometimes, he looked up when he thought he was being watched, and it was just Martin.

++ Being watched was a problem, but there was nothing wrong with Martin. ++ It had even started to follow him home; he could almost think he was feeling it now, the sense of something else watching, ++ but that was probably just because he was thinking about it. No need to be paranoid. He was probably alone and completely fine.++ Probably. It was much worse at work, after all; he hadn’t noticed how bad it was at work until he’d stopped going there.

But something was up. Something was very clearly up. ++ There was something very dangerous about the Magnus Institute, and he had to be very careful. He couldn’t afford to panic. He couldn’t afford to break down. For now, he had to not let on that he had noticed anything, or it could be very dangerous. ++ Jon had no idea what Martin wanted with him, or what he’d do if he realised Jon was onto him.

++ What?++

Jon wasn’t sure how dangerous Martin was. He had saved him, but that was from the worms that Martin himself had set on him, so ++ THAT WASN’T A REMOTELY FAIR INTERPRETATION OF THE SITUATION, MARTIN WAS A VICTIM THERE, HE’D BEEN TRAPPED IN HIS FLAT FOR NEARLY A WEEK. ++ Trapped in his flat, and Jon had just happened to catch the wrong bus, just happened to get off at the right stop, somehow known where Martin’s flat was and arrived to that hollow sound that had apparently been Jane knocking on the door.

_Knock, knock._

++ Coincidences happen, ++ but Jon wasn’t an idiot. He recalled small things, petty things; Martin bringing him tea, and Jon deciding on a whim to be unusually thankful. Going to bring up small mistakes, politely, ++ in a rude and waspish manner like a total dick, ++ and deciding to just let them slide. And then days of persistently wondering whether Martin was okay when he had no reason to think he wasn’t, finally getting on the wrong bus, ending up at the right place… to be attacked by someone who could only have been Jane Prentiss.

++ And Martin had saved him, and pulled a worm out of his neck, and given him first aid, even though Martin had his own set of wounds to worry about. ++ And that was the most suspicious part of all. Why had Martin had that fire extinguisher? How had he known it would work? He’d claimed that he’d sprayed the worms because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, but it was a hell of a coincidence, wasn’t it, for the thing he’d grabbed on the way out to be the very thing that would kill them? It had looked pretty new… as if he’d bought it for just this occasion. New, like his suspiciously complete first aid kit. His extensive pantry of food that could be eaten without preparing with electricity. Like someone who had been preparing for this exact kind of siege. And he’d been so calm about the worm… said it hadn’t been his first medical emergency, but the man had come from the library, for Pete’s sake, and he certainly wasn’t the type to have a high adrenaline hobby likely to involve accidents, so that had to be a lie.

++ Martin is capable of a lot more than you think. ++ A lot more than he ever would have suspected, for reasons he didn’t yet understand. But he would find out. He would find out what was going on.

Jon wouldn’t be bested by Martin Blackwood.

\-------------------

  
  


In the Panopticon, Jon coughed awkwardly. “Martin? We, ah. We might have a bit of a problem.”


End file.
